


Portraits

by duh_i_read (duh_i_write)



Category: True Blood
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Implied Relationships, POV Second Person, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duh_i_write/pseuds/duh_i_read
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family photos twine along the staircase wall in the Stackhouse home. Future fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portraits

**Author's Note:**

> Poetry in the second person. Self indulgent post season 3 speculation. Consider yourself warned.

Family photos twine along the staircase wall in the Stackhouse home. Ones of brother and sister,  
cousins, best friends. From your perch on the third step up,

you nibble a slice of too sweet birthday cake and stare at the collage of portraits.  
You’ve never been to Bon Temps, maybe your cousin

twice removed, failed to tell you of the strange happenings  
befalling the town as frequently as meteor striking the earth.

How could you know this? Not from studying the huge photo over the landing, watching  
everyone who walks in the door, the one that struck you as old fashioned;

the bottom of the gilt frame engraved with the words  
Herveaux family portrait, above the name:

Husband standing behind wife, towering in the top of the frame, on hand on her shoulder,  
she sits with a dark eyed boy in her lap. On his right is is a lanky girl, just over the cusp of

puberty, one arm across her chest and the other at her side, fingers just touching  
her brother's hand. _Normal_ crosses the mind. A handsome couple and their children.

Though you wonder, for a moment, why no one is smiling,  
exactly, not even the youngest. The solemness of it creeps you out,

and you look away to seek the only familiar face there.  
What you would never see, is the other portrait.  
Unless, of course, you were stupid:

high on V your cousin twice removed would later acquired in town,  
taken in a hallowed ritual involving a single aspirin table. You’ll feel superior. Infinite.  
Broke. People around town don’t lock their doors, and it would be easy enough to slip in

open windows and back doors, rife through desk drawers and cookie jars and wallets.  
The Stackhouse place will be different at night, every light off and the moon pouring  
over the house. You’ll almost feel the moonlight tickle you skin.

Perhaps you can. Everything will feel  
heavy, from the bag over your shoulders to the moonlight pressing over your face.  
A dog, far off, will howl. You will think _wolf_ ,

then, _there are no wolves here_.  
Inside you’ll lift the sliver candlesticks from the mantel while faded sepia toned  
Stackhouse’s glare at you from behind dusty glass.

You will luck out, find a fist full of bills hidden in a flour tin. Now would be the time to leave, to creep  
back down the lane. Instead you’ll look upstairs, ignoring  
the two bedrooms with toys strewn about for the master bedroom.

The room will be gray and bright under the full face of the moon, no need for light when you’ll lift  
tangled strands of silver chains and pearl necklaces from the box on the vanity. Along the mirror, more photos, a redhead girl arms banded around a broad shouldered man, another man

younger, hansom grinning at the camera, football caught the air above his head.  
On the nightstand, behind another photo is a heavy watch and a gold ring. As you sweep these into you pocket, there will be a moment where feel just how deep

your V hole will be, out of touch with reality because the photo on the nightstand looks  
exactly like the one in the hall, the Herveaux family gathered around each other, only here  
there are two pale colored dogs where the husband and daughter were standing, tongues lolling

in pleased doggy expressions, the little blond with one hand on the dog to her left, tiny smile  
curved her face.Shaggy, long legged creatures.  
They’ll look a bit like wolves.

 _There are no wolves here._  
People take quaint pictures with their pets all the time. You will wonder where these dogs are,  
why they didn’t bark at your approach.

A growl. The photo is growling at you.

No. Behind you.  
Lips pulled back, it will step out of the shadow like breathing moonlight. You will feel the growl

along the bottoms of your feet and deep in your chest and across your skin.  
Maybe you’ll scream. Maybe the scream will get caught in your throat as the leaps at you. Maybe

the scream will be ripped out with the rest of the flesh there.

Only, you would never know any of this, because you  
don't even talk to your cousin twice removed.


End file.
